


Ownership

by luvsanime02



Series: Whumptober 2018 [15]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Consent Issues, Gen, Introspection, Whump, Whumptober 2018, personal boundaries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-08-02 10:38:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16303580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luvsanime02/pseuds/luvsanime02
Summary: Natasha thinks about how there are many different types of touches.





	Ownership

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the October 15th Whumptober prompt: manhandling.

**Disclaimer:** I don’t own Marvel comics or characters or movies, and am making no money off of this fic.

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**Ownership** by luvsanime02

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On the whole, Natasha Romanoff hates to be touched. She can feel hands on her always, a thousand different ones, and every single one of them has tried to own her before. Sometimes, she had to let them, just a little bit. Sometimes, she kills them for even trying.

At the end of the day, though, when Natasha lies down and tries to sleep, she can still feel them. A thumb against her arm, lightly brushing along her skin. A palm carefully situated at the small of her back, nudging her forward. Fingers on her jaw, tilting her head just so. Hands on her thighs, spreading her legs open.

There is no part of her body that Natasha owns anymore. Every inch has been touched and claimed, possessed, by someone else. Natasha has endured enough manhandling in her life that she is now a technicolor abstract painting, dipped with every spectrum of light imaginable. There is fire inside of Natasha still, but it runs cold now.

Touching is so intimate. Even more than words, a touch can express so many meanings. Casual touches are the worst, in her opinion. Like when she’s at the grocery store, and there’s suddenly a hand under her elbow or touching her shoulder, drifting slowly down her shoulder blade. Or when she’s having coffee, and someone sitting across from Natasha pushes their leg against hers.

These small touches, this manhandling, these claims over her body and her agency, infuriate Natasha. The worst part is that she can’t retaliate, and they know it. Most of the men who casually lay a hand on her body grin at her afterwards, as if the two of them are sharing a secret.

The only secret that she’s sharing with them is that they’re scum. That they think of Natasha as a possession to own, and not a person to know. She hates those conspiring looks, those soft touches, as though they don’t know that what they’re doing is wrong.

Some days, she wonders if they do know and just don’t care, and the thought sticks with her.

Natasha only likes touches from those who she honestly has a choice about initiating contact with. Clint never touches Natasha without first making sure that she’s okay with it. He’ll lean close, silently asking, and let Natasha be the first one to reach out, to establish that connection between them. Then again, Clint knows what touches can do. He’s been hurt too many times from others’ touches, too.

Sparring is another easy way to touch. Natasha enjoys the adrenaline and the exercise, and the challenge from sparring with someone very good, like James Barnes. Natasha never minds touching, then. She never minds the bruises afterwards from a decent workout.

She also doesn’t mind it when Steve Rogers stands so close that their shoulders touch, because he’s looking for someone to take some of the weight off of his shoulders even temporarily, but he’s never able to ask for the help out loud, and Natasha wants to know for sure when he feels that way, instead of always guessing.

Still, every night, before she can fall asleep, Natasha feels so many hands running over her skin, and she knows that those few good touches will never be able to completely erase all of the ones that make her hate looking into a mirror, disgusted by what she’ll see.


End file.
